


The Pit

by Spydir Threds (whyntir)



Category: Original Work
Genre: Diary/Journal, Mental Health Issues, POV First Person, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:34:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26610760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whyntir/pseuds/Spydir%20Threds
Summary: Reaching a hand out into the void, hoping for someone to grab me before I fall.
Comments: 3





	The Pit

**Author's Note:**

> This is RAW.  
> This is everything I will never be able to put into words.  
> These thoughts, these feelings, all of this is extremely raw.  
> So please, if you are prone to being triggered by depression or are prone to suicidal thoughts, please, take care of yourself first.

Teetering on an edge, I cannot see the other side of this great pit. Its maw open to devour me as wails and screams echo from below. It’s cold. The stagnant air bitter like blood and biting as ice; it clings to my skin. I want to tear it off, the painful tingle sinking ever further down, I want to itch it away. Dig my nails deep and tear off the skin. Burrow into the muscles and weed out this disgusting feeling. I don’t know what to do.

The cries of agony that sounded so far away seem to creep closer. The longer they go on, the louder they become. Some rich and in such pain, blood curdling as if they were still falling into the hole. Some weak, mere whimpers as if they had found the bottom, only for it to not end swiftly. I could feel those sounds reverberating within my bones. Pounding through the marrow and echoing through the most sacred corners of my very soul.

The hole before me stretches on forever, behind me a forest of dense fog and the wasteland I have known only too well. There is nothing else in this place. Endless waste, or the pit.

I always manage to find my way back here.

No matter which direction I go, no matter how I tell myself that something needs to change. Eventually I always end up in the waste, and from the waste is the pit. It’s like I have no control. Regardless of the choices I make, the few times I have managed to find the sun, see the colour, breathe the fresh air of life, it was of no result of my own. It would just happen, and no matter how I dug in my nails, refused to move, screamed and cried, the fog would roll in, and everything would die in it. The flowers wilted, the grass gave way to rock and the sky itself would be blotted out, leaving nothing but grey. In search of life, there was only the pit.

I’ve jumped before.

Several times. I would beg for the hole to quiet. To close. This never ending pull of despair where I beg without a sound. Beseeching this hole to fill with something, anything. Joy, laughter, sadness and tears, anger and rage. If anything could fill it, perhaps giving another body.

But I end up back here. Back on the ledge. Every time I jumped, falling through the endless darkness, I thought, “Is this all I have left? Is this all I can do? I don’t want to die.”

And there I would be, back on the ledge. As if it never happened.

I want to reach inside and scoop out the pit. Pull every awful thing from within out to the surface. It feels so empty, insatiable; and yet so full of agony and pain that it's bubbling over like a volcano threatening to explode. It feels like it is tearing me apart from inside.

She told me I need to learn, but I don't think anyone can learn to deal with this. Forgetting the colour of the sky, the sound of songbirds, the warmth of a smile. The rattling pain of the screams. The sinking feeling of looking out over the pit, as if its hunger devours hope itself.

This isn’t life, so I’m not alive. But I am still here, so I am not dead. I am at war within me, as I beg for both to overtake me.  
I wrap my arms around myself and look up to an opaque grey sky. I need a sign. A voice to reach me, a hand to comfort me. I need someone to reach inside my very soul and hold me together, because I’m unravelling at the seams. I need help.

Please.

Someone.

Anyone.

Is there a God? I need you now. The pull of the pit is so strong, the screams have quieted and all that’s left is blissful silence. I’m so cold, I can’t feel the chill anymore.

I can jump.

I can be weightless. It would be like flying. Soaring away from all this and being embraced by darkness. I could almost hear it whisper to me, assuring me how it won’t ever hurt again. 

The pit treats me so gently when I feel so raw.

But I’m scared.

I’m not scared of the pit. Or scared of the darkness. I’m scared I’ll miss out on the sun. If I jump now, I will definitely never see the sky again. And that’s what I’ve been searching for this whole time. Was all of that for nothing? If I jump, the answer is concrete, but I stand on the edge, frozen, debating the schrodinger's cat.

I stand on the edge looking down, wishing for stars.


End file.
